


The Zenith Star

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Exorcisms, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Ever since he was a little child, Sehun could see demons and spirits. After he loses his brother to one, Sehun grows up battling the guilt – if he could see demons, he could've helped saved his brother, could he not?Fast forward a couple of decades, and he finds himself working a case with the very Church that failed his brother's exorcism. They embark on a journey to rid the world of Lamia, a demon hungry for a suitable soul to call her child.Along the way, he connects with Jongin, a man that hears demons just as well as he can see them. The man glimmers like a constellation, and Sehun is drawn to his Zenith Star.





	The Zenith Star

Oh Sehun was five when his fresh, still-developing brain started to piece together the stark truth that he was not normal – not by any means.

“Mommy,” he chimed, peering curiously up at the mangled face hovering a few inches away from him, directly above the stack of pancakes that was steadily growing by the minute. “Who is this?”

The face gritted out a litany of staccato growls, and Sehun frowned. It had been three days since this face joined them for breakfast, and it wasn’t getting any friendlier. Sehun felt mildly affronted. What gave this face the right to have Mom’s amazing pancakes and not make any conversation? Tired of being curious, Sehun figured he’d just ask his mother about it, even though he might get scolded for being rude to a house guest.

“Who?”

Sehun lifts a small arm and points imperiously at the mutilated head. “Our guest.”

His mother, clearly befuddled, scanned the room for what her son was pointing to.

“What are you talking about, sweetie? We don’t have a guest.”

Sehun’s large eyes blinked from his mother to the face that is very clearly still there.

‘But he’s right here?”

When understanding seemed to dawn on his mother, Sehun felt his shoulders lift slightly in relief. She placed a warm hand on the crown of his head and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Aw honey, you still have imaginary friends? Well, as long as you don’t let them distract you while you’re in kindergarten, okay? Does your imaginary friend want some pancakes too?”

Imaginary friends? Aren’t friends supposed to make you happy and smile? Sehun speared the prongs of his fork into a piece of pancake, mind flooded with unsure thoughts of pointed teeth and skinless faces.

 

 

 

  
Even though his brain had long since figured out the problem at hand, Sehun refused to accept the hard facts – until he turned twelve. Honestly, if it weren’t for what he had seen, he probably would’ve stayed purposefully ignorant for another ten years.

He’d watched his older brother slowly fade away, swallowed by a dark entity that only ever presented itself in thick curls of dark smoke. When priests were brought into their home, heavy rosaries threaded around their necks, Sehun wanted to tell them that it was futile. Anything they tried would prove to be useless.

 _I saw it all_ , he wanted to say, staring up at the mass of black that filled his empty shell of a brother inside and out. _It’s too late._

The priests tried everything, but to no avail. They wasted vial upon vial of holy water as his brother screamed and thrashed about on his bed, the skin around his bound wrists and ankles giving way to raw muscles and sinewed flesh. They chanted prayers upon prayers as the entity watched with something akin to amusement. Sehun was never able to see a face, but not everything needs eyes to see.

 _I’m sorry_ , he’d wanted to say, when his brother’s neck jerked forward with a blood curdling crunch. _I didn’t know who to tell. I didn’t know what to do. People wouldn’t believe me._

His mother howled; the entity buzzed in satisfaction; the priests bowed their heads and prayed for his brother’s soul to find peace in God’s land.

Sehun, clad in his pyjamas, stared with wide eyes as the black mass finally left his brother alone and slithered through the cracks in the floor. A wisp of smoke brushed his toes, and a flash of white-hot pain shot up his nerves. His heart tightened, his ribs expanded, and in a matter of seconds, he found himself on the ground.

 _I don’t forgive you_ , a voice said, the whispered words almost lazy in their utterance. _You left me to rot, to be consumed, to die._

Sehun clamped his hands over his ears and ran straight back into his bedroom, where he lay curled up in his bed, wide awake.

 

 

 

  
When he was fifteen, Sehun managed to muster up the courage to visit his brother’s grave. Still haunted by guilt, he’d brush his mother off every year when she would try to convince him to follow her.

The second he stepped out of the car, a bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hands, he knew it was a mistake. There are ghosts and spirits and whatnot swarming the area – sure, Sehun had slowly gotten used to seeing all these entities over the past decade, but not this many crammed into one place.

Most of them called out to him, pleading syllables that tumbled out of their decaying mouths in a pathetic attempt to see if this scrawny adolescent had the power to send them past limbo (he’d done enough research on his own, during sleepless nights, to realize that that’s what most of these spirits are – the dead that, for whatever reason, were not able to pass on into the afterlife).

With a harsher shove than he had intended, Sehun deposited the flowers in his mother’s arms and locked himself in the car. He felt her sad gaze on the back of his head, but he kept his face buried in his hands as he tried to block out all the voices that rang in his ears.

 

 

 

  
When he was eighteen, he decided to put his abilities into use. He’d seen too many normal people out in the streets with demons and spirits hovering over their shoulders, slowly sucking the light out of their eyes. He wondered if any of them survived, if any exorcisms succeeded in banishing these… _fuckers_ right back to wherever the fuck they came from.

He was such a headstrong teenager – he would do his best to accomplish anything he set his mind to. But there was one problem: _how_ was he going to go about conducting exorcisms without even the slightest knowledge behind the act?

So he poured all of his energy and time into research. He dredged through the depths of the internet, scoured dusty tomes in the libraries’ farthest shelves, and reached out to a handful of exorcists.

It was only when a retired exorcist pointed out the _small_ fact that he could see demons and spirits, that he realized he would never become the typical exorcist. And if he wasn’t a typical exorcist, then he wouldn’t perform typical exorcisms.

Lost, and finding himself at a crossroads, he let it all fall down to fate.

 

 

 

  
Sehun was almost twenty when he woke up one Monday morning to see that he had finally received an email from someone desperately requesting an exorcism – he’d placed a small ad advertising his services in all of the popular newspapers’ Classifieds a couple of months ago.

Clicking on the email, he scanned through the short paragraph of words with sharp eyes.

Someone was requesting an exorcism for her girlfriend – twenty-two years young, a Japanese college student that had suddenly started chanting in Latin for seven hours straight, too-dry skin cracked up and down her limbs, nails blackened to a deathly shade of ash grey.

The next day, he found himself alone in the girl’s bedroom, as she lay strapped down to her bed with belts around her wrists and ankles. The buckles dug painfully into her bones, and Sehun could see blood seeping out of split skin from where the leather straps chafed. He felt the presence of the girl’s girlfriend standing outside in the hallway, frantic and nearly out of her own mind with worry.

He stood, standing over her straining frame, for what seemed like hours. She bared her teeth at him – one was chipped – and muttered darkly in Latin the entire time as Sehun tried to figure out the best course of action.

The demon hovered over her head, claws buried in the girl’s sweaty hair. There was a green tinge to the demon’s skin, and Sehun stared into those red eyes curiously.

“Why her?”

  
His throat rasped with the words, and of course, the demon does not reply, although its mouth moves. Sehun’s never had a demon or a spirit actually respond to him.

The demon grinned, sank a little deeper into its host, and Sehun took a step forward.

He extended first his right hand, then his left. At this point, he wasn’t completely sure how this would turn out. But something in his gut guided his feet forward; Sehun tightened his fingers around the demon’s neck – he felt it solidify under his touch – and _yanked_.

 

 

 

  
That was his first successful exorcism, and now, five years later, he’s built quite a name for himself. He has his own office – not large, but comfortable enough – right in the heart of the city, and his own secretary to boot. It’s just the two of them, just him and Johnny, and it has been since the establishment of the office. More than a handful of people have asked him to take them in as apprentices, but Sehun relies solely on his own abilities – and Johnny’s scheduling. Sometimes, Johnny brings his Border Collie to work, and those are the livelier days.

Neither of them mind it though, the quietness. It serves as a nice contrast to the field they’re in, and God knows they appreciate having a day to themselves without screams thrumming in their ears and the scent of blood seeping through their pores.

More often than not, Sehun brings Johnny along to an exorcism, where he stands silently behind the camcorder for the entire duration. Each video is saved for their records, and although Johnny cannot see what Sehun does, he always makes an effort to jot down notes on the demons’ (and the occasional harmless spirits’) appearances as Sehun relays them to him.

Sometimes, he receives requests for interviews and whatnot, usually regarding his ability to see the possessing entities. Once, a gangly teen wanted to use him as a subject for a school project on the supernatural world, and that was one of the most awkward interviews Sehun has ever had. Nowadays, he tends to decline these sorts of requests, only strategically accepting one.

A knock sounds on his office door, and Sehun glances up to see Johnny’s head peering around the frame.

“Someone’s calling from the… Exodus Church? They wish to consult you for an upcoming exorcism.”

Sehun raises his eyebrows. The Exodus Church was the church that housed the inexperienced (or so Sehun believed) priests in charge of his brother’s exorcism. He’s mildly surprised they haven’t closed yet.

Part of him wants to decline their request, but another part wishes to show them what a true, successful exorcism looks like. Sehun has a 98% success rate, a stark difference to their 49%.

“Fine. Schedule them in.”

Johnny looks a little bewildered – he knows about Sehun’s brother –, but nods and closes the door behind him anyway.

 

 

 

  
“You’re not Father Moran,” Sehun says. He doesn’t recognize either of the two men standing before him.

“I’m not,” comes the smooth reply. “He has been dismissed. A year or so ago. I’m his replacement – my name is Minho, and this is Jongin, my second in command.”

Sehun hums, lithe fingers rising to prop up his chin as he rests his elbows on the edge of the desk. Behind Minho, Jongin shifts his weight slightly – the fabric of his suit breathes softly, and a lock of dark hair falls into his eyes.

“So, how can I help your church? What sort of case is this?”

Minho reaches out for the folder that Jongin holds out to him silently.

“It’s not just a singular case,” the priest says, placing the pale blue manila folder on the table. Sehun pulls it towards himself with a finger and flips it open.

“Over the course of the past few months, we’ve gotten reports of possessions across the country. To date, all of them exhibit identical symptoms: blackened eyes, markings down their arms and necks, a web of bruised veins just above their hearts. They speak in some obscure Latin dialect, voices all pitched low. We haven’t tested it yet, but it’s likely it’s the same voice. Some of them have proved to be dangerous, but others are catatonic. A few have died from self-mutilation, and one from the hands of her own terrified mother. We’d like your help as we figure this out, if you’re willing to provide us with it. Your ability would be tremendously helpful.”

Sehun stares at the glossy pictures tucked within the file.

They’re terrifying, and that’s a thought running through Sehun’s mind without even having seen whatever the fuck it is that had possessed these people. Entities only appear on film/video after Sehun’s laid eyes on them in real life, so for now, the spaces around the humans in the photographs are void of evil.

But he can sense the sheer magnitude of this particular entity. More people are likely to die if the issue isn’t sorted out soon.

When he looks up, he sees Minho gazing rather hopefully at him. He flicks his eyes to Jongin standing quietly by the door, and is somehow unsurprised to see those dark eyes completely unreadable.

“I know the Church has failed –”

“I’ll help you,” Sehun interrupts. “But not for you.”

Minho nods empathetically, but all Sehun registers is the heat of Jongin’s gaze on him.

 

 

 

  
Sehun and Johnny lock up their modest office and head towards Sehun’s car, stowing their filming materials and first aid kit in the trunk.

“You’re sure you have time for this?” Sehun asks once more.

“I’m sure,” Johnny replies. “Besides, I’ve never been on a road trip.” He grins.

Snorting, Sehun slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine.

It’s a twenty minute drive to the church. When they get there, they find Minho, Jongin, and a slim women waiting for them by the driveway.

“I’m very happy you’re able to make it,” Minho says, a little too enthusiastically for Sehun’s tastes. “You’ve met Jongin; this is Irene. She takes care of us when we’re unable to.”

Irene gives them both a small smile, and Sehun thinks he hears Johnny’s sharp inhale.

“How many do we have?”

“Seven,” Minho says. “Thus far.”

“Alright. Where’s the first one?”

 

 

 

  
They drive for ten hours, stopping twice for food and gas station bathroom breaks before arriving at a motel. Their destination is another six hours away, but not a single one of them wishes to drive another kilometre.

When Sehun and Johnny walk up to the front desk, bags in hand, the other three are already there. Irene’s busy tapping away on her phone, sunglasses perched daintily on her head. Minho’s shuffling through some papers as he converses with the receptionist, and Jongin’s standing next to the priest, examining something in his hands.

“Here,” he says suddenly, turning around and proffering something to Sehun.

Sehun glances down – it’s a room key.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. Jongin gives him a small nod, passes Irene her key, and turns back to face the counter.

Sehun blinks away the faint notes of a deep voice in his ears and tilts his head towards the hallway.

“Shower and sleep?”

Johnny yawns in response.

 

 

 

  
“So, what’s your… routine?”

Minho pauses, glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth. He takes a moment to process Sehun’s question before taking a sip and setting the glass down.

“For exorcisms?”

At Sehun’s nod, he straightens slightly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you the same question too, but since you asked first – the leading priest will usually recite certain prayers; Our Father, Hail Mary, and the Athanasian Creed, for example. There is a lot of Holy Water involved, crucifixes drawn with both Water and ash. Each exorcism rite varies, of course. But that’s the gist of it.”

“Are you the only person in the room?”

“No,” Minho says, spreading butter over a slice of toast. “Jongin’s usually in there with me.”

“Doing…?”

“He observes,” Minho replies. “Helps if it’s required, but most of the time I can handle it on my own.”

“What do you observe?”

Jongin glances up at him through thick lashes, and Sehun feels his mouth go dry. Jesus, this guy could melt bricks with those eyes.

“The demons.”

Johnny chokes on his cereal.

“What?”

“I can hear them talk,” Jongin says after a beat, brow furrowing.

Sehun gapes. Probably rather unattractively, he thinks belatedly.

“Which brings me to the reason as to why I requested for your help,” Minho interjects, somehow politely.

“I can see them,” Sehun continues after a brief pause. “But I cannot hear them.”

“And you can touch them,” Minho asks, breakfast seemingly forgotten.

“Yes,” Sehun answers. “It’s how I perform my exorcisms – I fight them.”

“How do your exorcisms go, usually?”

“Depends on how powerful the entity is,” Sehun says, leaning back in his seat. He pushes a lump of scrambled eggs around his plate with the prongs of his fork.

“An exorcism can take ten minutes or up to two hours,” Johnny chimes in. “During the tougher ones, it’s not uncommon for him to get injured.”

“They attack you in retaliation?”

“Oh, yes. One almost eviscerated me,” Sehun says, lifting the hem of his shirt to show the other three the unnervingly straight scar running across his stomach. Irene winces.

Silence blankets the table for a few minutes; Sehun can hear the gears moving in Minho’s head.

“I was hoping to have you and Jongin work together for this case. Between the abilities that the both of you possess, we may be able to uncover information about these entities that we’ve never had the opportunities to learn about before.”

“Perhaps,” Sehun agrees, eyes locking with Jongin’s across the table. The latter doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

  
The camcorder is recording, the small red dot blinking steadily as Johnny hides behind it. Prayers are tumbling out of Minho’s mouth like a lifeline, and Sehun stares up at the entity with wide eyes. He’s never seen anything like it before – it’s _beautiful_.

Jongin is a warm, sharp presence by his side, and Sehun reminds himself that they have a task to do.

“What do you hear?”

“It’s not saying anything right now,” Jongin replies, voice subdued. His gaze remains hot on the straining figure bound to a thick post. It’s a twelve-year-old child, with a head of shockingly bright red hair. Her name is Victoire.

“The demon… she’s nothing like I’ve ever seen,” Sehun says, taking a small step forward. She tilts her head, gives him a small, wicked smile. “She doesn’t have the typical markings of a demon; she looks just like a human.”

Then, Jongin’s hand comes up to grip painfully at his elbow. Sehun turns, heart rattling against his ribcage. There’s a glint in Jongin’s eyes, and he seems… off.

“ _Have you ever thought that, perhaps, humans look like us instead?_ ” Jongin says. Or rather, the demon says, through Jongin’s vocal cords, throat, mouth. Sehun stares, mouth dry. Then Jongin swallows, and the sheen in his eyes disappear.

“Does that –”

Jongin shakes his head, eyes wide. “Never.”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Jongin says, licking his lips. “A little violated, maybe.”

“Would you be alright if I tried to start a conversation with her?”

“ _Feel free to talk to me, love. I don’t bite_.”

Sehun whirls around, takes in the little smirk dancing across the demon’s face. Her lips are black, pointed teeth red, and her skin a smooth, alabaster white. Next to him, Jongin shudders, eyelids fluttering shut.

 

 

 

  
They’re squashed in Minho and Jongin’s motel room, Jongin perched silently on the edge of one of the two twin beds as Irene gives him a checkup.

“Her name is Lamia.”

Minho stares. “The one from Greek Mythology?”

“The one Greek Myth is based off of, more likely,” Sehun answers, pulling on a strain in his arm and grimacing as his shoulder joint cracks.

“She’s powerful, more powerful than any demon I’ve ever had to deal with,” he continues, taking a sip of his instant coffee. It’s pretty shit, but it’ll do.

Sighing, Minho thumbs absently through his bible. “Yeah, I could feel the amount of resistance she put up against my prayers.”

“She looks human,” Sehun says, playing with the rim of his paper cup. “Demonic features, of course, but definitely more human than not.”

“She seemed to want to…” Jongin starts, frowning when his voice sounds rough and grating.

“To want to play – with us,” Sehun finishes for him. Jongin nods minutely.

Irene glares at Jongin until the man rolls his eyes and drains whatever she’d poured into the cup in his hands.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this one,” Johnny mutters from the other bed, camcorder in his hands.

“Neither do I,” Sehun admits, “but we have to do everything we can.”

“She’s only twelve.”

Sehun chances a look at Jongin and notices the crease between his eyebrows. Irene squeezes his arm; no one says anything.

 

 

 

  
“ _She has everything I look for in a child. She’s strong, confident, chases her dreams. Her parents love her, her friends look up to her, her teachers love her. She’d be the ideal daughter; wouldn’t you want a child like her?_ ”

“I’d want a child that’s my own,” Sehun mutters, pushing damp hair out of his eyes as he stares up at Lamia. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

A flash of anger flits across Lamia’s cat-like eyes, but she easily schools her features into one of mirth.

“ _That has never stopped me, love._ ”

“What is it you want?”

“ _Someone to call me Mother_ ,” she replies, and Sehun can see the tightness in Jongin’s throat. Jongin’s fingers are vice-like around his wrists, and there’s a sheen of sweat glistening over his tan skin.

“Is that it?”

“ _I want their parents to feel my pain – the pain of having your child taken away from you, killed in front of your very eyes. They deserve to feel that pain, as much as I did not_.”

When Sehun moves away from Jongin’s side, closer to the spasming Victoire, something changes. He doesn’t hear Lamia anymore, doesn’t hear the low humming that he’s come to associate with her as some form of breathing. Looking over his shoulder, he sees a confused expression on Jongin’s face; the tendon in his neck stops twitching, and he seems as though he’s come back to himself.

“What?”

“You can’t hear her anymore?”

“No.”

Baffled, Sehun glances back at Lamia – her coal black lips are still moving, and he glimpses hints of blood red whenever they part.

“But she’s still talking.”

“Um,” Johnny pipes up, “I think you two need to be touching.”

Jongin blinks, then holds out a hand. Sehun reaches for it, and when their fingertips brush, Lamia’s voice comes flooding back.

“ _– can’t save them. There’s nothing you can do. Their destiny is to be with me, be in me._ ”

Deciding that he’ll deal with the issue between him and Jongin later, he rounds back on the demon. Impulsively, he grabs for her arm, and he briefly registers a searing pain on his palm before he’s thrown back, feet lifted off the ground and back slamming into the wall.

The lights in the room flicker and die.

 

 

 

  
The salve stings, yet soothes. Sehun slumps down in the armchair, hand extended as Irene fusses with his bandages.

“The typical exorcism isn’t going to work,” Sehun mutters, an arm thrown over his eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead are ridiculously bright.

“What makes you say that?”

Sehun lowers his arm just to look at Minho with a raised eyebrow. “My gut. Based on everything I’ve experienced in that room over the past few days.”

“Has contact wounds ever happened to you?” Irene asks, gesturing to his injured hand. It’s starting to blister, and Sehun absolutely dreads the pain that’ll occur when the blisters pop.

“Nothing like this, if I recall.” He looks at Johnny, who nods in agreement. “Something tells me this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“If we can’t pry her out of the vessel, what else can we do?”

Thanking Irene for dressing his wound, Sehun straightens and winces at the dull throb radiating from the back of his skull.

“We keep trying,” Sehun says. “But we will need to consider the use of a… trained vessel.”

The mere suggestion is clearly too heavy for them to discuss tonight, so they bid each other goodnight.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Flexing his injured fingers experimentally, Sehun nods at Jongin and gestures towards the patio. The two of them head through the glass doors, leaving Johnny to his shower.

 

 

 

  
“I’ve never channelled voices before,” Jongin begins, perched on a rickety chair.

“A lot of things we’ve experienced this week has been new,” Sehun points out. “How old were you when you found out about your ability?”

“Eight.”

Sehun’s silence prompts him to continue.

“I grew up an orphan, in foster homes. When I was eight, a new kid came in, and I roomed with him. For weeks, I heard whispers at night, and I just assumed he talked in his sleep. I was a shy kid, and I didn’t want to ask him, out of whatever irrational fear I had back then. It wasn’t until I saw the stillness of his lips and heard those whispers that I realized it wasn’t coming out of his mouth.

“But I didn’t realize what those voices were until a few years later. By that point, I’d heard voices from over ten people, voices that all wished for revenge, to kill, to destroy, to bring pain. It drove me mad, for awhile. I’d shut myself in my room the whole day, or when I had to leave my room, I’d blast music through shitty headphones. I made sure to drown those voices out.

“When I was thirteen, one of my foster sisters collapsed in the middle of dinner. Out of panic, my headphones fell. Then I heard it. The demon’s voice. Saying, clear as a fucking sunny day, that she had died because she broke up with it. The demon was her ex-boyfriend, who’d killed himself a couple months prior because she dumped him. He came back for her, came back to torture her, to ruin her from the inside out. He said she deserved it, that if he died because of her, she had to die because of him.

“The day I turned eighteen, I left my foster home and went straight to Exodus. I’ve been there ever since, working with Minho.”

Standing, Sehun walks back into the room and retrieves two bottles of cheap beer from the mini-fridge. He passes one to Jongin, and pops the cap of his own. He takes a swig, closes his eyes at the slide of slightly bitter bubbles down his throat.

“I was five. I started seeing this… face around the house, sometimes by itself, sometimes in its host.” He pauses, the lip of the bottle resting against the swell of his own.

“My brother was its host. The demon was quite… dormant. There were no signs of possession for years, although I could clearly see it, hovering just above my brother’s head during mealtimes, a dark aura around my brother’s frame at night, darker than night itself. I never said anything – when I tried to, my mother thought I had an imaginary friend, and brushed me off. Telling my brother was obviously useless, and I just… didn’t know what to do. Maybe things would have been different if my father was around; maybe someone would’ve believed what I tried so hard to convey.

When I was twelve, his possession finally became noticeable to everyone else. My mother called Exodus for an exorcism, but by that time, it was too late. It had consumed my brother, and all that was left of him was his body. His soul was gone. I wanted to tell someone, to tell them that my brother was already gone, that trying to bring him back is just a waste of time. But I couldn’t. The demon just… watched the priests. It was so amused at their uselessness. My brother died that day. Well, his body did.

“I knew my brother blamed me – right after he died, I heard his voice. He blamed me for not speaking up earlier, for not trying to save his life. And he was right. I was scared, and I chose to stay quiet. It’s not the church’s fault, although I clung to that excuse for the longest time. I still do, even though I know it’s pathetic. After high school, I immersed myself in the world of exorcisms. Maybe I chose this path because it’s a way of making it up to my brother; or maybe I did it just so others wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt I did.

“I conducted my first exorcism when I was twenty. I was alone, with no fucking idea what I should be doing. I went with my gut, and pulled the demon out of its host with my bare hands around its neck. From that day on… well, you can figure it out, I’m sure.”

As soon as he stops talking, Sehun realizes that his throat is really dry, and his mouth feels as though he’s been sucking on cotton. He takes a heavy pull of his beer, and exhales shakily. He doesn’t look over at the other man, but his skin thrums at their relative proximity.

“All we can do now,” Jongin begins, draining his own bottle of beer, “is to move forward.”

His voice is strong and stable, but Sehun knows that he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing, too.

 

 

 

  
They spend another week with Victoire, and towards the end, Sehun becomes so frustrated that he punches a hole right through the thin plaster wall of their motel room.

“Um,” Johnny utters, staring at the hole with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Sehun sighs, shaking off the ache in his fist.

The hole crumbles even more, and at some point, they hear Minho’s voice.

“Is… everything okay?”

“Not remotely,” Sehun grits, staring at where bruises are beginning to form on his knuckles. Great, now _both_ hands are injured.

A soft shuffle can be heard from next door, through the gap in their walls.

“Want to talk about it?”

It’s Jongin.

“There’s nothing much to say,” Sehun huffs, irritated. “We’re failing Victoire. _I’m_ failing her. I’m the one with the best odds of getting rid of Lamia, but I _can’t_. She’s dying, and I _can’t help her_.”

“This isn’t solely your responsibility,” Jongin says, and Sehun thinks he hears the sound of a back hitting the wall.

Johnny excuses himself, more than a little awkwardly, and when the door closes behind him, Sehun hears another door open and shut as well.

“We’re running out of time,” he groans, sliding down the wall and letting his head bounce off the surface. “What’s to say that the other six children won’t be dead by the time we’re done here?”

“We can’t guarantee they’ll be alive,” Jongin admits. “But –”

“We can if we get rid of Lamia. Here. Now.”

“It’s best not to have high hopes,” Jongin says slowly, as if he’s having trouble selecting his words. “At least based on our progress thus far.”

Sehun laughs bitterly. “Progress. Right.”

 

 

 

  
Victoire dies on a Tuesday, body covered in unreadable markings and black veins extending from her still heart. Her mother cries herself into a stupor, and her father cleans the whole house three times in a row. The room she was kept in is scrubbed so thoroughly that everything seems to shine. Her younger brother, too young to understand what’s going on, just clings to his mother.

“We’re terribly sorry,” Sehun hears Minho say. Ah, the apologies are about to begin. Unable to stomach any of it, Sehun excuses himself and rushes outside into the sun.

His lungs ache for air, air that hasn’t been tainted by death and sorrow.

He’s bent over, hands on his knees, when he hears someone come up behind him.

“Not now, Johnny.”

“I’m not Johnny,” Jongin says. He holds out a thermos.

Sehun takes it, fingertips twinging with pain, after a beat. The aroma of coffee wafts into his nose, and he takes a large gulp. It’s hot, and it burns his tongue and down his throat, but he doesn’t care.

“Thanks.”

Jongin hums in response, and they stand out on the porch in silence. A couple of cars drive by, their drivers blissfully unaware of what had just occurred inside.

“You did your best,” Jongin begins, and Sehun cringes. He knows he did; he’s got the burns all over his hands and arms to prove it. His left hand, injured from that first attempt at exorcising the demon, now has fresh burns all over the healing blisters, and the pain serves as a stark reminder of his failure.

“I know,” he says shortly. “My best wasn’t enough.”

“Her parents don’t blame you, you know. Or any of us, for that matter.”

Sehun closes his eyes, and the sun beats down on the back of his eyelids. He wonders, vaguely, if his eyelids will get sunburnt.

“I don’t usually fail,” Sehun says. “I’m not… used to this feeling.”

“It’s good that you aren’t. No one should be at a point where they’re used to losing someone.”

Taking another sip of his coffee, Sehun glances at Jongin out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you always this… shut off?”

Jongin snorts. “It’s just who I am, I suppose. Expressing emotions… don’t come easy to me.”

Sehun nods; he thinks he understands.

“Here, let me see the burns.”

A little surprised, Sehun extends his arms, and Jongin rolls up his shirtsleeves. They’re bad enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, if Irene wasn’t around.

“Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but what’s some external pain compared to what her parents are going through?”

Jongin searches his face – for what, Sehun doesn’t know – for a moment before letting his gaze fall back to Sehun’s arms. Then, gesturing for Sehun to take a seat, Jongin pulls out Irene’s first aid kit and sets to work.

“Is Irene… busy?”

“No,” Jongin replies, opening a bottle of mineral water and cleaning the burns. Sehun bites back a hiss and fights the urge to dig his nails into his burned palms. “I offered to help.”

Sehun looks down at the crown of Jongin’s head, watches as the breeze picks up a few of those onyx strands. He doesn’t comment on Jongin’s statement, and Jongin doesn’t offer any other explanation.

 

 

 

  
The second vessel, a fourteen-year-old boy by the name of Leonis, dies in just two days.

Sehun takes off his in car for hours, driving aimlessly around the small town as his thoughts run wild. Lamia had laughed at them, had told them that all they’re doing is wasting time. He’d almost been inclined to believe her, but a glance at Leonis, slumped over in his chair, neck strained and elbows distended, convinced him to keep moving forward.

But right now, with two children dead, he doesn’t really know if he can.

He drives around with the radio blasting and lets the music drown out his frustration. It’s only when he’s almost out of gas does he decide to return back to the motel – he turns into the lot and parks at a quarter past three.

The hallways are deserted. Outside his room, Sehun twists the doorknob as quietly as he can, for Johnny’s a light sleeper. When he steps inside, however, he sees that the lights are on, and Johnny isn’t in his bed. Instead, Jongin’s there, seated in the cheap desk chair, dressed in nothing but sweatpants.

“Where’s Johnny?”

“Sleeping. In Minho’s room.”

Closing the door behind him, Sehun drops his keys on the table and toes off his shoes.

“Why are you here?”

Shrugging, Jongin turns his gaze back to the television.

“I don’t sleep much. Thought you might need someone to talk to when you came back.”

Sehun considers Jongin’s offer for a moment, before turning to his bags and retrieving a clean pair of underwear.

“I’m going to take a hot shower. Maybe later,” he murmurs, and Jongin simply tips his head at him.

 

 

 

  
Sehun stands underneath the showerhead, letting rivulets of hot water sluice away all the tension wound tight in his shoulders. He sighs, more than once, and lets his forehead rest against the wall, relishing in the shock of the cold tiles against his skin. He remains in the shower for such a long time that he half expects Jongin to be asleep when he emerges, but no – Jongin’s still in the chair, except now he’s got a knee pulled to his chest.

“Still here,” Sehun comments, rubbing the towel through his hair before tossing it onto the floor.

Jongin raises an eyebrow.

“Your brother’s death isn’t your fault,” Jongin says. Sehun looks up at him sharply.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re beating yourself up over Lamia’s victims because they remind you of you brother. Of your perceived failure.”

Sehun pulls the covers off his bed with more force than necessary.

“People don’t deserve to die like this,” he mutters, wet locks of hair falling into his face. “They have so much to live for, so much to experience. They don’t –”

“You need to strengthen your mind,” Jongin cuts in. “How will you be able to help others if you’re constantly like this? How will you give your all when you’re not mentally there half the time?”

Air forces its way through Sehun’s teeth.

“You need a strong mind to do what you do; I’m sure you know that people with gifts like ours are much more susceptible to possession – our minds are already open to links with the supernatural world.”

“I didn’t come back for a lecture.”

The chair drags along the carpet as Jongin pushes it back and stands. Sehun hears him take a few steps forward, but he refuses to turn and look the other man in the eyes.

“It’s not a lecture. It’s me trying to get you back on track, because we cannot do this without you. We cannot move forward if you’re not at a 100%.”

Jongin’s voice is much too close, and goosebumps erupt down Sehun’s neck.

When he finally turns, his breath catches – Jongin’s barely an arm’s length away, and those eyes are as heavy and intense as ever. Sehun’s gaze drops, and he notices a series of thin, silvery scars criss-crossing across Jongin’s chest.

“What happened?” He asks, voice raspy.

Jongin doesn’t comment on the change of subject, just looks down at himself and runs a hand over the scars.

“I was seven. Some bitch of a cat attacked me.”

Sehun can’t seem to stop staring at those lines. They stand out beautifully against Jongin’s skin; one almost cuts through a dark nipple.

“Ah. Well, you pull them off.”

When Jongin chuckles, Sehun turns away and swallows.

“We should sleep.”

Without waiting for an answer, he climbs into bed and pulls the sheets up to his chin.

 

 

 

  
Progress doesn’t occur until a little over two months into their trek across the country. They’re on their fourth case – the third one was just as unsuccessful as the first two –, and Sehun finally manages to pry a sliver of information from Lamia’s dark mouth.

“If you need them, why don’t you help keep them alive? Don’t you need their souls?”

Lamia sneers, tendrils of hair extending in agitation before slinking back into her skull. She runs a forked tongue across the jagged edges of her teeth, and looms closer to Sehun, who stays rooted in his spot.

“ _They die because they’re not strong enough_ ,” she hisses. “ _If all it takes is a few damned prayers over the course of a few days to kill them, then they’re not strong enough_.”

“So what, are you just going to keep killing until you find a child suitable for your needs?”

Lamia shrugs, reaching out to trail a claw down the side of Lily’s face – the young woman writhes and her mouth hangs open in a silent scream. A trail of blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth. Sehun tears his gaze off of her.

“ _A mother deserves the best child_ ,” Lamia says. “ _Doesn’t she?_ ”

 

 

 

  
Minho’s pacing back and forth, the fabric of his cassock billowing around his ankles.

“These exorcisms only serve to drive Lamia away from the host, not to destroy her.” Minho says, a finger lifted in the air. “But once we’ve done that, the vessel dies, because Lamia’s already absorbed the child’s soul. So what’s left is an empty body, one that’s been through too much stress to continue functioning.”

“There’s only one solution, really,” Sehun says. He tils his head back and closes his eyes. “We need a vessel that’s strong enough, and we need to convince Lamia to possess it. We need to fight her from the inside.”

“That’s a gamble,” Minho says. He doesn’t sound too comfortable with the idea, but Sehun’s not surprised.

“Gambling means we’ve got a shot at winning,” Sehun points out. “What we’re doing now means we’ll ultimately lose.”

Then he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“Where’re you headed?” Johnny asks.

“Out for a walk,” Sehun answers, gathering his hair back into a bun. “I need some fresh air. Well, as fresh as air in a city can be.”

 

 

 

  
For some reason (that he knows but refuses to acknowledge), Sehun had half-expected Jongin to follow when he left the room. Sure enough, the second he emerges out of the hotel’s lobby and onto a street, he hears familiar footsteps behind him.

“If I didn’t know better,” he drawls, shoving his hands into his pockets and slowing down, “I’d think you have a thing for me.”

Jongin falls into step with him, and Sehun glances over.

“Would that be a problem?” Then, he sneezes.

The sounds jars Sehun’s heart into beating twice as fast – by God, how can a sneeze be that cute?

When Jongin sniffs and returns his gaze, Sehun flushes hotly and looks away.

“Uh, I guess not,” he mutters, turning at the next possible right. He focuses on moving his feet – right, left, right, left – and not stumbling over them like a flustered, hormonal teenager.

Over the past month or so, his relationship with Jongin has crossed the line of Acquaintances, passed the wide spectrum of Regular Friends, and into the grey area of Friends That Flirt Occasionally. It’d started with a comment here and there (e.g. a tipsy “has anyone told you that you have a really nice chest?”) before escalating into brief touches and lingering looks that send way too many sparks up their spines.

In fact, Jongin’s managed to convince Johnny to swap rooms, citing ‘late sleeping hours’ as the main reason. Johnny, knowing Sehun all too well, had just rolled his eyes at one point.

The grey area of Friends That Flirt Occasionally is very grey, however, and neither of them know exactly how to proceed. Sehun’s not used to this – having someone interested in him and feeling just as interested in return. Throughout his entire life, he’s put the idea of having a relationship on the backburner, too focused on his work for that to be considered a priority. Whenever he needs to scratch the itch for physical intimacy, he’ll simply head to one of his favourite clubs and pick someone up for the night. But even that’s a rare occurrence.

From what Jongin’s told him, they’re on – relatively – the same page. Jongin’s been in a couple of relationships as a teenager, but they never lasted long. Once he’d entered the church and started working with Minho, he’d been celibate ever since (although he doesn’t need to be, since he’s not an official member of the clergy).

A slight cough from Jongin brings Sehun back to reality.

“Where exactly are you walking towards?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a park around here,” Sehun says, “one with a set of swings.”

Sure enough, after five minutes of wandering around, they stumble across the park. Sehun heads straight for the swings, and after some adjustments – his hips aren’t as small as a child’s –, he finally manages to settle into the seat somewhat comfortably.

The wind is a nice caress against his scalp as he swings – strands of hair tumble out of the bun and flutter by his jaw. Jongin walks around the playground, fingertips trailing along the edge of the slides and the rungs of the monkey bars. He leaves footprints in the sand. Sehun watches him walk, legs absently controlling the speed of his swing.

Jongin finishes his lap of the playground in front of Sehun’s swing. He’s just far enough to avoid getting hit by the tips of Sehun’s shoes, but close enough to fix Sehun with that damn gaze.

When Jongin abruptly takes a step forward, Sehun hastens to drag his feet along the sand in an attempt to slow the swing down.

The swing stutters to a stop, the chains shuddering under the sudden tension. Jongin reaches out with both hands and helps keep the swing still, fingers wrapped tight around Sehun’s own.

Sehun stares resolutely at Jongin’s torso – if he looks up at the man’s face, he’s pretty sure his nerves will fry and he’ll combust.

“What are –”

The swing jerks slightly when Jongin takes a hand off the chain to gently dislodge Sehun’s ponytail from the hair elastic, effectively cutting off the rest of Sehun’s sentence. The elastic tumbles to the ground silently, and Sehun’s breath lodges somewhere behind his heart when Jongin threads nimble fingers through his hair.

“I know things seem to be happening too fast too soon,” Jongin says, voice as soft as the breeze against their skin, “but I haven’t wanted something like this in so long.”

“I can’t promise anything lasting.” The words leave a bitter aftertaste in Sehun’s mouth, but he sets his jaw resolutely. He’s not lying; before this, they lived vastly separate lives. Things may very well return to that state once their collaboration is over.

A hand smoothes the hair out of his eyes, and Sehun can’t help but glance up.

“I’m not asking you to promise me anything.”

Then, warm palms come to cup Sehun’s jaw, and Sehun manages to glimpse the flutter of Jongin’s eyelashes as his eyes dart down to his lips.

“Can I just –”

“Yeah,” Sehun utters hoarsely.

Jongin leans down, and Sehun is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the presence of the swing, for he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay upright if he wasn’t seated.

A simple brush of lips against lips sends Sehun’s head spinning into overdrive. He tightens his hold around the chains, knuckles paling in stark contrast to his flushed cheeks. When Jongin moves to cover Sehun’s bottom lip with his own, Sehun sighs contentedly into the miniscule space left between them.

That exhale seems to spur Sehun on, and he finds himself finally releasing the chains in favour of tugging Jongin closer by the neck of his shirt. The kiss shifts from gentle to insistent in a heartbeat, and Sehun finds himself riding a high as Jongin licks into his mouth with a clever tongue.

Digging his heels into the sand for extra grip, Sehun pulls Jongin closer to him – the poor man’s back is nearly bent double at this point, but some sacrifices have to be made for the greater good – and pulls away from the sweetness of Jongin’s mouth to fasten his teeth around an earlobe. He nips it, tugs it, and relishes in the groan that tumbles out of Jongin’s kiss-pink lips.

Jongin dips his head the other way, fingers in Sehun’s hair tightening and pulling back to expose a delicious sliver of skin. He sucks on the skin there, tastes the faint twinge of sweat and the lavender soap that Sehun favours. Hopefully that’ll leave a mark, Jongin thinks, Sehun’s skin would surely look amazing with love bites.

There are impatient fingers pushing at the hem of his t-shirt, so Jongin reluctantly releases his hold on Sehun’s neck to let Sehun push his shirt up as high as they’ll go.

A tongue laves at an already stiff nipple, and Jongin arches silently into Sehun’s hold – Sehun squeezes his hips in response, teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

“If you want me to stop,” Sehun says roughly, “you’d better tell me now.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Something flashes in Sehun’s eyes, and Jongin fights the urge to throw his head back in pleasure when Sehun flicks the tip of his tongue incessantly across a nipple, thumbs slipping past the waistband of his jeans.

Sehun finally stops his abuse of Jongin’s nipples and moves on to dropping feather-light kisses across the scars on his chest, deft fingers slipping the button of Jongin’s jeans easily out of its hole. The zip presses teasingly along the length of Jongin’s erection as Sehun slowly pulls it down – Jongin can only stare, open-mouthed, down at the sight of Sehun’s face an inch away from his crotch.

“Can I?”

Jongin gathers Sehun’s hair into a bunch and holds it there with one hand, the other reaching between them to swipe at Sehun’s slick lips.

“Please.”

  
With permission granted, Sehun pushes Jongin’s jeans down to his knees, eyes sweeping over the deserted park once before letting his boxers join them. He stares (more than a little hungrily) at Jongin’s erection, the darker head peeking out of the foreskin and slick with pre-come. It curves slightly towards Jongin’s navel, and Sehun would really like to feel the weight of it on his tongue. He noses along the thatch of coarse hair at the base, inhales the scent of the man standing in front of him, and Jongin’s cock twitches at Sehun’s exhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He swipes a bead of pre-come off the tip with his forefinger and places it on his tongue – slightly salty, slightly bitter, very addicting. Jongin moans softly at the sight.

Without preamble, Sehun grasps the base of Jongin’s cock and brings it towards his lips. A heavy swipe of his tongue across the slit has Jongin’s thighs trembling, and Sehun smirks to no one in particular before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking.

Digging the fingers of his free hand into the supple flesh of Jongin’s ass, Sehun applies enough suction to send Jongin gasping into the night air. He licks at the sensitive spot just below the ridge of the glans, eyelids fluttering when the cock in his mouth twitches, and relaxes his jaw.

Nudging Jongin’s hip, Sehun glances up and tries to convey to the other man what he wants.

It doesn’t take long for Jongin to figure it out, and the hand holding Sehun’s hair in place tightens its grip a little more in anticipation.

“Are you sure?”

Sehun nods, letting go of the base of Jongin’s cock. At the first, tentative thrust of Jongin’s hips, Sehun lets out a muffled moan. The head slips easily down his throat, and he swallows around the hot length, dropping a hand to palm at himself through his sweats.

“Oh fuck,” he hears above him, and Sehun hollows his cheeks as Jongin pulls back. He pushes his tongue up for extra friction, and Jongin’s responding moan as he thrusts back into the heat of Sehun’s mouth sends a hot chill down his spine.

“Can I go faster?” Jongin sounds wrecked, and Sehun loves it.

He nods minutely, and Jongin lets go of Sehun’s hair in favour of holding his head firmly in place. Sehun slackens his jaw even more, and presses the heel of his hand against his erection as Jongin starts picking up speed.

His eyes are watering, but the spongy head of Jongin’s cock is hitting the back of his throat with every thrust and spreading the taste of the man all around his mouth, and he could honestly care less about the discomfort.

It doesn’t take much more for Jongin to come.

“I’m gonna –”

He tries to pull out, but Sehun grips his hips with such force that Jongin’s unable to move them back. He comes with a guttural cry down Sehun’s throat, beads of sweat running down his neck as Sehun swallows everything and cleans his softening cock with kittenish licks.

When Sehun finally lets Jongin’s cock slip out of his mouth, Jongin tucks himself back into his pants instantly, wincing at the sensitivity. He drops to his knees, pushes Sehun’s legs apart, and reaches into Sehun’s pants. Sehun nudges the waistband of his sweats just low enough for his cock to hang out of, and he sighs in relief when Jongin starts stroking him.

He can tell Jongin’s still recovering from his orgasm, so he settles for rocking subtly into Jongin’s fist as he drinks in the brightness present in the other’s eyes.

Jongin returns his gaze with a small smile, thumb rubbing the slit and smearing the slick down the shaft.

Then, having caught his breath, he bends his head and welcomes Sehun’s straining erection into the heat of his mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sehun moans, spine curving as Jongin’s head bobs. The slightly calloused pads of Jongin’s fingers clash beautifully with the velvet smoothness of his tongue, and Sehun’s toes curl in his shoes. Jongin blows him like his life depends on it, hand stroking the rest of Sehun that he can’t fit into his mouth.

Sehun releases with a whimper into Jongin’s mouth, and Jongin milks him through it with gentle strokes of his hand. He licks the slit a couple of times before slipping Sehun’s cock back into his pants, panting slightly against his hip.

They stay in that position for a while, Jongin’s forehead resting on Sehun’s thigh, as they try to collect themselves.

“Well, I hope no one witnessed that,” Sehun finally says, running a shaky hand through his hair. Jongin laughs, warm puffs of air against his thigh. Sehun smiles.

 

 

 

  
“You’re running out of vessels, aren’t you?”

Lamia scowls, her smoky tendrils of hair flowing around her face.

“None of them are living up to your standards, are they?”

Sehun looks over at Lara, already a successful bank manager at the tender age of twenty-five. Well, not anymore, he thinks dryly. Now, she’s bound to her bed, streaks of dried blood extending from her eyes. 

“ _What do you know about my standards?_ ” Lamia demands, swooping close enough to send wind whipping painfully into Sehun’s face. Behind him, Jongin flinches.

When Minho steps up to the bed to draw a cross on Lara’s forehead with ash, Lamia looks on in disdain. When Minho sprinkles Holy Water all over Lara’s body, Lara screeches, and Lamia bares her red teeth.

“What are you going to do when you run out of vessels?”

“ _I will not run out of vessels_ ,” Lamia hisses, “ _how incompetent do you think I am?_ ”

“I know it takes a lot of energy to find a suitable vessel and to possess it,” Sehun says, glancing down at Lara’s squirming body. He sees blackening veins stretching up towards her neck. “It takes even more work to maintain possession of it.”

Lamia lunges out and wraps burning fingers around Sehun’s throat. Pain instantly floods his senses, but he fights the burn and stares back into her eyes.

“ _Are you implying that I am weak, mortal?_ ”

“I’m not implying anything,” Sehun forces out. “I’m simply pointing out that your energy is stretched thin.”

Lamia snorts – well, as close to a snort that a demon can manage – and releases him.

He can feel his skin start to blister.

“ _Don’t you worry, love. I won’t be stopped by a mere lack of energy._ ”

 

 

 

  
“We need to act soon,” Jongin says, eyes following Irene’s every move as she tends to Sehun’s injuries.

Sehun voices his agreement, jaw tense as Irene cleans his wounds. The burns are shaped to Lamia’s hand, and the marks left behind by her fingers curl nearly around his whole neck.

“We need to take advantage of her weakened state. She may not show it, but I can sense it. With every passing day, her magic seems less palpable, her presence less stable. If we stick through the next couple of exorcisms, we should have her at a state where if we introduce a potential vessel, her control over it will be weaker. Her power should be weaker as well, and the goal will be for me to last through an exorcism long enough to extract her from the vessel.”

“How are we going to find a vessel?” Johnny asks, brows furrowed.

“I’m the vessel,” Sehun replies with an unreadable look on his face. “It’s the only logical answer. I’m the only one who can see her, touch her. It has to be me.”

There’s a vein pulsing in Jongin’s temple, and Sehun can only imagine how much he wants to argue. But the both of them know that there’s no arguing with that fact, so Sehun settles for giving Jongin a slight quirk of his lips before looking away.

 

 

 

  
A month later and the autumn chill starts to seep through the cracks in the floorboards and into their bones. Thankfully, there’s a surefire way to keep the cold away – lots and lots of physical activity.

Ever since their night in the park, Sehun and Jongin have enjoyed numerous blowjobs and handjobs given both languidly and hurriedly. They’ve been nervous to step over the line of non-penetrative sex and into the land of _I want you to fuck me_ , but it was bound to occur at some point.

“Lay down,” Jongin says thickly, swallowing around his arousal as he watches Sehun walk backwards towards the bed. The back of his calves hit the edge of the mattress, and Sehun yanks his underwear off before sitting down and shuffling backwards until he’s prone.

When Jongin turns around to collect the necessities, Sehun props himself up on his elbows and drinks in the sight of the naked man in his room. Lean muscles ripple underneath smooth skin, and the dimples in the small of Jongin’s back causes Sehun’s mouth to water. He lets his eyes roam along the tattoo spread across the breadth of Jongin’s shoulders.

“What’s that tattoo?”

“The constellation of Draco,” Jongin answers, turning around and tossing a small bottle of lube and a pack of condoms onto the bed. Sehun’s eyes flick down to the items briefly, and he flushes a pretty shade of red.

“Why’s one star larger than the others?”

“It’s Gamma Draconis,” Jongin says, approaching the bed. He rests a knee in the space between Sehun’s legs. “The brightest star in the constellation. It’s known as the Zenith Star.”

“Are you –” The bed dips as Jongin puts his full weight onto the mattress, slinking up to Sehun on his arms and knees. Sehun exhales shakily. “Are you into astronomy?”

“Yeah,” Jongin replies, dropping his hips to slide his erection up against Sehun’s. Sehun keens.

“What other constellations do you like?” Sehun asks, and it takes all of his willpower to keep his voice steady.

“Cygnus,” Jongin says, rolling his hips once more. He mouths along the slope of Sehun’s neck, leaving a love bite – or two – in his wake. “Looks like a swan taking flight. Deneb, one of the brightest stars, is part of Cygnus.”

When Jongin licks at a nipple, Sehun’s hands shoot outwards to grip at the sheets.

“The constellation of Ara,” Jongin continues, nipping his way down the length of Sehun’s tapered waist, “is named after the altar in Greek Mythology.”

He breathes over the straining heat of Sehun’s cock and slips a hand between his legs to brush against his perineum. Sehun chokes back a cry and tries not to thrust his hips into Jongin’s face.

“Should I keep going, or should we fuck?”

“Fuck,” Sehun answers immediately. “Please, God, fuck me.”

Sitting back, Jongin drags the flat of his palm up Sehun’s erection – his own cock jumps at the filthy noises that tumble out of Sehun’s mouth.

Bless this hotel for supplying condoms and lube, Jongin thinks, although they’re not the best quality. He uncaps the bottle, dribbles a copious amount over his hand, and spreads the slick around his fingers. Pressing a finger against the furled opening of Sehun’s hole, he rubs at the entrance a few times, enough to get Sehun bucking back on his finger for more.

From there on, everything happens incredibly fast.

Sehun’s begging for Jongin’s cock in a matter of minutes, and Jongin rips through the first condom packet with so much strength that he tears the condom. After being forced to take it a little easier for the second one, Jongin finally pushes into the wet heat of Sehun with a bone-melting groan.

Grabbing Sehun’s ankles, Jongin pushes them back towards Sehun’s head, rising up on his knees for leverage. A sharp snap of his hips rips a pitchy moan out of Sehun’s throat, and Jongin does it again just to coax more of that music out of the pliant man beneath him.

His hips seem to move of their own accord, Sehun’s pushing back against them helpfully.

“Gorgeous,” Jongin mutters, gazing down at Sehun’s blissed-out face through the strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes. He traces the faint scars all around Sehun’s neck. “Perfect.”

“Harder,” Sehun whimpers. “Faster. Please, fuck –”

Passing Sehun’s legs over to their owner, Jongin reaches between them to rub at where they’re joined, where Sehun’s stretched out around him. His free hand goes up to stroke at Sehun’s cheek – when Sehun turns his head and pulls two fingers into his mouth, Jongin’s eyes dilate even further with liquid heat.

The room’s filled with the sounds of slick skin slapping against slick skin, moans and whimpers, and the occasional _yes, fuck, right there and oh my g – harder!_

Sehun comes spectacularly, come spurting from his weeping cock hot and hard, landing on his chest and catching the edge of his jaw. Jongin fondles Sehun’s spent cock gently, eyes trained on how Sehun pulls his bottom lip into his mouth at the sensation. Then he peaks, a little unexpectedly, when Sehun grinds his hips down and pants out his name.

After emptying himself into the condom, Jongin collapses onto Sehun’s body, giving zero shits about the mess smeared between their chests. Sehun just laughs breathlessly, legs coming to wrap around Jongin’s hips, a heel slipping on sweaty skin.

 

 

 

  
“What if,” Sehun begins, “I tell you that I’m willing to be your vessel?”

Lamia stares at him as if he’s grown an extra head.

“My mind is more malleable than most to being possessed,” Sehun continues, “which also means that my soul is much easier to obtain. I’ve a strong heart, am headstrong, and I try to do what’s best for everyone. If I am ideal, that means you’ll leave everyone else alone. A win-win situation for us both, no?”

Lamia swirls around the seventh vessel – a young man on the cusp of adulthood – and hums contemplatively.

“ _And what if you’re not good enough? Like you claim you are?_ ”

“Then I’ll die, and you lose an obstacle in your quest.”

She eyes the bandages around Sehun’s neck – a little gleefully, if Sehun has to admit – and brings a hand to her mouth. Her forked tongue darts out to brush against the points of her claws.

“ _I suppose I have nothing to lose_.”

 

 

 

  
They’re in an abandoned warehouse, owned by one of Irene’s friends. Minho ties Sehun to a padded chair that’s bolted to the ground. Irene and Johnny are busy setting up the necessary supplies, so the exorcism can begin as soon as possible.

“Leave me,” Sehun says, rotating his wrists to test the strength of the bindings. “Come back in 24 hours to check on my state. When you see signs of possession, start the exorcism process immediately. I will need Jongin by my side when that occurs – assuming I can still converse with her, I need Jongin there to speak for her.”

He’s doing a remarkably good job at keeping his fear out of his voice, Jongin notes. Sehun’s eyes are steeled, his jaw set. His own heart is rattling, and his gut is churning. Poor Johnny looks terrified.

As the camcorder begins to record, Sehun gives the four of them a reassuring smile. Irene fixes him with a despondent look.

“It’ll work out,” he says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels. “Trust me.”

 

 

 

  
Exactly 24 hours later, Minho all but knocks the rusty door down in his haste to enter the room. The hinges stick, but no one pays attention to the resistance. They’re staring at Sehun, at the markings slowly spreading down his neck and under the fabric of his shirt.

“She’s in me,” Sehun rasps, voice an octave lower. His head hangs, sweaty hair obscuring his eyes. “I feel her.”

Jongin rushes over and rips Sehun’s shirt apart – the veins in chest are bulging slightly, pushing against his skin. They’re a dark blue, not quite black.

Minho grabs his Bible, pinches some ash between his fingers, and draws a large crucifix down the expanse of Sehun’s bare torso, muttering prayers under his breath as he does.

“I’m going to start,” Sehun wheezes, muscles in his abdomen tightening as a burn starts radiating from within him. Jongin kneels in front of him and presses his palm over Sehun’s heart.

“I’m ready when you are.”

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s never really delved into his own mind and soul before. It’s a weird place to be in – quite similar to a void, everything’s shrouded in a muted grey, and he can’t make out a single corporeal thing apart from himself.

Then, footsteps echo from behind him, and he turns to see a young woman walking towards him. Long, black hair flows down her back, ends just barely brushing her calves. Her eyes are a dark blue, and when the light hits it at a certain angle, they turn into the darkest shade of black. Her plump lips are curved into a vapid smile, and she’s so pale that Sehun thinks he can look right through her if he tries hard enough.

“Lamia.”

“ _I have to say_ ,” she begins, “ _you really are quite a delightful vessel._ ” She toys with a lock of her hair, blood red nails glinting in the light.

Her voice is deep, gravelly, and Sehun thinks he hears Jongin’s voice seep through.

“ _I’m not stupid, love. I know why you offered me your body. But I don’t think you realize just what you’re up against._ ”

He shrugs. “Worth a shot, right?”

“ _I will get what I want. I will have the child I deserve._ ”

 

 

 

  
The fight is oddly… human, Sehun thinks dazedly, head ringing from where Lamia had slammed it against the ground. They’re grappling, like hormonal teenagers fighting for their honour.

She keeps aiming for his throat, giving Sehun ample chances to drive his knee into her gut over and over again. With every hit, however, her demonic form starts to slowly slip past her disguise. And with every hit, Sehun feels the tension behind his eyes start to build. His skin starts tingling, and it gets harder to breathe.

“ _Do you feel that?_ ” Lamia hisses, pearly whites starting to stain red. “ _That pull just behind your heart, just above your navel? That’s me, and that’s your soul I’ll be getting_.”

Something echoes in his ears, and it sounds suspiciously like his own name. There’s a desperation to the wispy word, and Sehun grinds his teeth together before forcing the demon off of him. He can feel blood trickling down from where her nails dug into the flesh of his neck, and it’s warmer than it should be. He presses his fingers against the wound, and is a little surprised to feel a gap where flesh and muscle should be.

Staring down at Lamia’s hands, he sees a chunk of flesh pierced through her pointed nails. Ah.

Lamia lunges at him once more, and Sehun falls.

 

 

 

  
He hears a cry, a helpless wail. It rings somewhere in the far distance.

It’s a struggle just to open his eyes, but he manages. Everything is… red. And on fire. After a cursory glance down at his prone body, Sehun deduces that the redness is mostly his blood, courtesy of the deep gashes all over his body, intensified by the heat of the flames around him.

Heaving himself to his feet, he stumbles towards Lamia, whose demon form has completely emerged. She hovers in the air, power radiating off of her small, yet imposing frame. Flames lick at her, and she basks in their caress.

So Sehun does the only thing he can think of. He falls into her embrace, locks his fingers, and plunges them straight into her chest.

He closes his fingers around a burning core, and he pulls, screaming as he does so. It hurts, the pain barrelling into his bones, but he yanks it out of her. She howls as he drops it to the ground, heel crushing it into the floor, still grey beneath all the blood. It dissipates into a cloud of smoke.

Then everything flares red, and goes black.

 

 

 

  
He wakes up gasping for air like he’s been drowning for weeks.

Jongin’s on him in an instant, warm hands pushing his damp hair out of his eyes and mopping up all the moisture on his skin with a piece of cloth.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jongin mutters, a hand pinching Sehun’s chin just so he can make Sehun look up at him. “You’re back. Your eyes are back to normal. You’re okay.”

Sehun grunts, and Irene rushes over with a thermos and a bottle of water. In the distance, he hears Minho furiously scribbling in his notebook.

“Tea in the thermos,” she says, as Jongin digs a pocket knife out of his pocket and slices the ropes binding his wrists to the chair.

“Fucking hell,” Sehun hears Johnny mutter – he looks over tiredly to see his assistant slumping down the wall, looking utterly drained. Irene places the thermos next to his foot and rushes off.

There are fingers prodding at his chest, and Sehun glances down to see his veins fade from black to blue, from pushing against his skin to lying quietly underneath the dermis. The marks down his arms are beginning to disappear too. He also notices large burns all over his body – Jongin carefully avoids those areas.

“You were dead,” Jongin mumbles, forcing Sehun to swallow a mouthful of water. “For minutes.”

“Oh,” Sehun manages hoarsely. “Really?”

“Halfway through, your body started blistering. Your eyes blackened, you started seizing, the marks –”

“I heard my name,” Sehun interrupts, draining the bottle of water.

“I shouted your name multiple times,” Jongin says, sitting down on the dusty ground, forehead leaning against one of Sehun’s knees. Irene returns with a first aid kit and rids Sehun of his shredded shirt.

When Jongin looks back up at him, he sees faint tear tracks down that sculpted face.

“I was bloody terrified,” Jongin tells him. “You were _dead_.”

“I’m okay,” Sehun says, pushing his fingers into Jongin’s hair. It’s tangled, probably from all the times Jongin himself had run his own fingers through them. His wrists are so sore, but Sehun ignores the pain in favour of pressing comfortingly against Jongin’s scalp.

“I’m okay,” he repeats. “I’m okay.”

 

 

 

  
They took a few days for Sehun to rest before starting on their drive back across the country, back home. Minho takes advantage of all the downtime to grill Sehun on the details of the exorcism, which Sehun gracefully provides to the best of his ability.

Showering is a bitch, but thankfully, Jongin’s always around to help. He tends to Sehun’s burns, applies the necessary creams and dresses them carefully.

When Sehun pressed Jongin back into the mattress a few days after the exorcism, Jongin had refused to touch him, even when Sehun sank down onto his cock with a pleased sigh.

“I’m not broken,” Sehun told him, thighs clamped down on Jongin’s sides. “You can touch me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jongin insisted, glancing at the bandages scattered all over Sehun’s body.

“You won’t hurt me. You’re making me feel better.”

Later, Sehun cried out his release into Jongin’s shoulder, held up by strong hands gripping onto his hips.

 

 

 

  
It takes them the better part of a week to arrive back in their city.

They part ways at a diner. Johnny finally manages to pluck up the courage to ask Irene for her number, and the woman chortles affectionately at the flush riding up his cheeks. Sehun thanks Minho for the opportunity to provide his assistance, and tells the priest that Exodus is in much better hands with him.

“Will I see you again?” Jongin asks, leaning against his car door.

Sehun smiles softly as he leans in to brush their lips together. He nips at Jongin’s bottom lip, closes his eyes as he inhales the now-familiar scent of the man, and steps back.

“If you want to, you know where to find me.”

He turns back to his car, gets in, and pulls away.

Half an hour later, after dropping Johnny off and pulling into his own apartment complex, he can still feel the heat of Jongin’s hand firmly splayed across the small of his back.

 

 

 

  
“Sehun,” Johnny calls. “You have a visitor.”

His door opens, and Sehun looks up from a pile of paperwork to see a pair of dress shoes that look oddly familiar. His gaze travels up a fitted pair of formal slacks, then past an equally fitted suit jacket, up to the edge of a strong jaw.

“Took you long enough,” he teases, leaning back in his seat.

Jongin gives him a lopsided smile. “I’ve been quite busy, sadly.”

“You’re all dressed up.”

“Was on a consultation,” Jongin answers, hand resting self-consciously against the buttons of his suit jacket.

“Hmm.” Sehun lowers his pen. “You wear it well.”

They regard each other quietly, then Jongin clears his throat and straightens.

“Free tonight?”

“I could be.”

“The sky’s supposed to be very clear tonight,” Jongin says. “I was thinking that we could find a nice park and stargaze; I can tell you more about constellations, if you’d like.”

When Sehun agrees, the shine in Jongin’s eyes seem brighter than the Dog Star. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Facts:  
> 1) Lamia is an actual demon – a child-eating demon, specifically.  
> 2) I gave Jongin the tattoo of the Draco constellation because I want it too. Except on my thigh.  
> 3) I chose the Draco constellation because Draco is my favourite HP character; then the Cygnus constellation because she's my favourite character in Maplestory (lol); then the Ara constellation because an altar fits the fic, no?  
> 4) The Dog Star is also known as Sirius, and it's the brightest star.  
> 5) I didn't go into detail about the exorcism process because there are so many variations. And the technicalities of it is not really too important.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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